Paco had been among the first people to wake up in a puddle of alien snot in the Pod Caverns. He'd been around to greet almost everyone currently awake on board the ship, if not at Pod Pop then at whatever time he'd been released from the Medbay or from GLaDOS' maze-running. Some people probably thought he was maze-running right now -- he hadn't been causing much of a ruckus lately.

He wasn't running mazes. He hadn't been for awhile, but he really was just waiting for GLaDOS to grab him again to make sure his soul wasn't going to fall out or whatever it was that she tested. With the mood he was in, he wasn't sure that it wasn't about to.

Lately, he had settled himself at the Vatican. He wasn't exactly a big religion kind of guy, he was way more into sleeping in late than dressing up for church and all that. But it was pretty quiet in his corner of the Vatican, and right now he didn't really know where else to turn. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling like it might have an answer for him. It didn't, but talking to the ceiling beat talking to himself.

"You pick a lousy-ass time to break out the neck-punching. Just FYI."

The Metacrisis Doctor is restless. That's not very unusual, really. He's often varying shades of restless or impatient, it's part of who he is, and it's not something that's gone away as a Metacrisis so much as it's changed shape. His restlessness and impatience was on a far grander scale than it is now, for instance. So far, he's managed to live a fairly domestic life with Rose in a home that doesn't move constrained usually to one planet. His old self would never be able to handle that, but sitting still and paying attention to things, or lazy Sunday afternoons drive him mad.

He's more restless than usual now. If he believes everything he's been told (and it's a stretch to say he does, but saying so) then his new universe, his life, even his Rose are gone, and the only hope of getting them back in one piece is finishing this mission. Yet the ship seems to stop as often as a luxury liner on a tourist show across the omniverse. Or something equally slow and aggravating.

He's spent far too long this time standing in the obs deck, glaring down the stars and willing them to start moving again. It's getting a bit ridiculous even for the man who's trying to stare down stars.

Eventually, he fled to the City. It's almost Earth-like, and to his dimmed (and somewhat desperate) senses, it reminds him of the home he's apparently got to retroactively save. If any of that is true. Which he hasn't really decided on yet.

For now, he sits under a tree, watches people pass, and waits for Stacy to start moving again.

It had been months since Stacy had released Sarah Kerrigan but the meatship hadn't seen very much of her. It wasn't because she preferred to spend her days alone, at least not solely. It was safer this way. For her and for everyone else on the ship. She had come clean to the Captain, given him a short explanation of her reign as the Queen of Blades. She knew that he could not legally imprison her for crimes she had committed in her own universe but she was still surprised that he hadn't arrested her on the spot. It's what he should have done. Murderers shouldn't go unpunished, especially not when they'd murdered billions people. But then just because Kerrigan wasn't behind locked away didn't mean she wasn't a prisoner. She didn't remember everything but what she did was played out in brief bursts. Images flashing into her mind before vanishing as quickly as they had come. But that was good. That was what she deserved. And slowly she became accustomed to this new life. Barely interacting with others, training, waking up wracked with sobs and shaking.

And then he came. One day. One day with Jim Raynor. Because Stacy hadn't tormented her enough.

If one were to speak in metaphors, you might say that there was a hole in her heart. Kerrigan would say that was a terrible metaphor as she no longer had one. It was more a reminder of what she was missing. What she could have been had the zerg not claimed her.

Now Kerrigan sat in the messhall. It was not as popular as it once was now that there was a supply of real food but it was not as empty as she would have liked. Usually Kerrigan ate quickly and left but today, and in fact every day since Stacy's surprise "gift" to the crew, she sat staring at her slop but not seeing it at all. You would expect more from a telepath. They were supposed to get lost in others' thoughts, not their own.

Instructions: Post your character with one post establishing them as being podpopped. Tag each other in groups of 2's, 3's, and 4's, to get some interaction to start with. If a thread doesn't already have 2 or 3 people tagged in, tag it with your character's podpop popping near the other people, rather than making a new subthread. If you would like to play out them talking to the AI, please send an email to the mods making the request--we do this only by request. Then move onto the big Newbie Meeting. Once your character has gotten the rundown from the old crew, you may start posting entrance posts and freely tagging.]


||Pod Release Protocols Initating|| Stacy's familiar voice sounds out to all the podmates through the ship.

In the Pod Caverns, there are the sounds of: Pop. Pop pop pop. Poppuhpoppoppop. KASCHUNKhiiiiiiiissssss.

There is condensation and mist spraying out from cracks in the pods, as the people inside slide out onto the floors, covered in slime.

--

( There was nothing... )

The rest of the crew assembled on the Observation Deck to meet the latest editions to their numbers. After the revelation that their worlds are gone, many of them are even more eager to see people they knew from home.

Several people are set up near the doors to provide the new people with omnicoms and comm rings. They are also told they must read information about their current situation and a survival guide with their new omnicom. New crew-mates might see a tall dragonish guy with wings (but don't call him that) and purple girl among their number. There are also several authoritative-looking figures ready to introduce themselves.

There's a lot to tell the new people. It's going to be a lot to take in.

[ooc: Only new characters and Command Staff can start new threads for introductions, to limit the number of threads. Everyone else, just tag in and have your guys greet the newbies.]

The chute opened seamlessly out of the wall and deposited the man on the squishy floor of the corridor with an ungraceful thud. The man stood, brushing at his clothes as he did, an oddly human gesture he had picked up from Sam and Dean. His face, as he stared at the featureless wall the chute had disappeared back into, was blank, expressionless, his jaw covered with a dark fuzz. He reached up to touch this unfamiliar roughness as he stared consideringly at the wall.

"Jack-hole," he finally said.

Hey, Cas was trying, okay? It wasn't his fault if human cussing was still a little beyond him.

With that, Cas turned, making his way through the corridors of Stacy, heading towards hydroponics.

After his long stay with GLaDOS, he needed a drink.


[Cas makes his return! Feel free to run into him in the corridors, or to meet him at the beer tree, just specify the location in your tag :3]

Training was coming along. Also the house they were living in, but it still needed more repairs. That Xander guy was a big help, even if Dean didn't care for how the guy would sometimes stare at his brother too long. It was weird, and he'd be apologetic about it as he'd get back to work. But it's weird. All the one eyed guy would say would be how he knew the other Sam and they worked together against the Yeerk. The very idea of his brother being possessed again by something evil... that was worse, and reminded him too much of the possible futures he kept hearing or seeing. Sam saying yes. Like he was always going to bend over to Lucifer for one reason or another. And Dean had to allow it. Just sit back like some useless bitch while everything falls. Well hell with that, hell with the damn future for that matter. He hoped Adam was in the pods perhaps, and maybe his old man. At very least Mikey can't have them take his place.

Or you can accept your destiny, Dean.

Crap, he could do without the background commentary. He needed a drink or something to fight. He was half hoping Vader would show up somewhere so he could go kick his Sith ass. Be better than contemplating how much his future will suck if they get their world back. Eh, screw it, he needed to practice or something. He checked the time. Hunter class was yesterday, so he was free and clear there. He hated using the Sensoriums but it did work for training purposes. Like the hunting sim he rigged up a few times.

Now, time for something different. Cas was probably poking around the hydroponics. As long as he was just growing herbs and weed and not trying to partake anything narcotic, it seemed like a good idea. Gave him something else to do. Just like what Dean was doing. Keep moving, keep busy. Fight and bury the thoughts down in the hole.

Today's practice didn't involve a gun though. It involved a longsword. His old man gave them some pointers about bladed weapons, and an overview just in case. But most of their battles involved guns and bigger weapons. Still, better to be diverse as possible.

Dean had voted. It felt a little weird since with all the traveling and fake ids growing up, he had never even registered so back home he never voted. He wondered if his brother ever tried while he was at Stanford. But maybe not. They still tried to keep a low profile, and that meant to the government as well. Almost like ghosts really.

Still he made his choices, and right now, he was having an idle beer near the beer tree. Kyle had warned him to keep a low profile after pissing off Vader, but really? Trouble tended to stick to Winchesters like dog crap to shoes, and Dean was no exception to that rule. If anything, sometimes he encouraged it. It was going to happen, what's the point in hiding really. Better to be prepared. Of course he was armed, it was why the shore leave was so hard. Felt naked without carrying at least a gun and a knife. Preferably more.

So he was contemplating some recent events. Less about Vader, because the guy was an amateur with his threats. Oh sure there was the anticipation, but he lacked follow through. It was one of the lessons that Alistair drilled into his head in hell. Lessons he still remembered, even when not carved in illusionary flesh.

No the events he was contemplating were his possible and Sammy's future. What Cas remembered in his past. And if they really could change it. He drank his beer, hoping to drown what was knocking at the back of his head, seeking that little 'yes' as a door to his meatsuit. Like hell.

He started singing a song he hadn't sang since before he was dragged into hell.

"Because I'm wanted... dead or alive...."

Bedrest in the Medbay wasn't that bad. It wouldn't be for long, after all. But it was a little boring, and Hiccup spent most of his time talking to Astrid, who had taken to hovering periodically, or reading messages on his omnicom, or reading books on his omnicom.

Mostly, he slept, because he was in dire need of it.

One his leg was finished healed up around the new dock, he'd get his automail attached to the dock for the first time, and then have to worry about the rehab.

For now, though, he certainly didn't mind visitors, whether they were were his friends on ship or new people just wandering through.

"Bored bored boredboredbored booored bored..."

Chaucer had a perhaps excusable fondness for taverns. He'd certainly spent enough time in them to either loathe the places or love them, and Geoffrey rarely found it within himself to loathe anything that was willing to provide him with food and company.

And a tavern, unlike so many things on this strange journey, echoed vaguely of home. He'd even found some dice somewhere.

Rattling them idly in one hand, an itch he wasn't quite allowed to scratch, the writer and herald sat neatly cross-legged on a table, chin in hand, elbow on knee, kilt neatly smoothed around him to avoid unwanted eyefuls. His dice-filled hand moved, clacking and jangling, as he finished up a story to whatever audience would listen.

It was a story of chivalry, of passion, of dedication, a slice of stupidity, and an overpowering need for a full stomach and well-delivered fonging. It was the story of Wat.

Delivered in fond mockery, it ended thus; "Not every wise man can expect to be a good man, and few good men can expect to be wise. The ones, however, who can grasp at life with both hands, breath deeply of it, and declare that it could use more salt are something to be marveled upon. Perhaps not revered or praised, but certainly watched very carefully."

Mordin had been, as usual, doing his research. And now that research was being put into action. The ship had vast supplies of antibiotics and other medical supplies, but, practical as ever, Mordin had decided to act and move towards making sure that should the supply ever become impaired, he would be prepared. The salarian had tested plants from the Hydroponics Bay and made a few purchases whilst on shore leave; having cleared a patch of land near the river in the city he was now planting an herbal garden. Various plants with medicinal properties ranging from anti-biotic to nausea prevention were arranged in pots near-by as the doctor knelt on the dirt, trowel in hand.

Mordin went to work with an industrious will, humming quietly as he worked. Dig a hole, remove the plant from the pot, put plant in appropriate hole, mound up the loose earth and a sprinkle of water from watering can, continue. He'd have to get a fence up next to make sure people didn't trample all over the plants. For now though, there's nothing stopping anybody from walking right up the doctor and his hard work.

The directions Castiel had sent him down into the City, but Sam came out on the opposite side from where the house apparently was. Which led to no little bit of grumbling from him and various curses aimed at GLaDoS. He didn't even know how much time he'd lost, only knew it was enough for Dean to have gotten back on his feet.

Eventually, though, he did make it to the house, pausing a moment to just stare. It seemed so...normal in comparison to the other places in the City. But it was only a moment, though, before he ran up the front steps, pushing the door open and he was the one looking out of place, still in his X-Wing flight suit. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said he was snatched almost straight from the cockpit.

"Cas?" he called out, since it was Cas who had messaged him. "Dean?"

Anybody?

Enough healing, and after some practice and testing, Dean made his way to the Hangar. He was still worried about his brother, and he really wanted to tear out GLADOS circuitry if she's responsible. It didn't take long for him to find the Impala, and he ran a worried hand over her hood.

"Awww, baby, what did those alien bastards do to you?" There was some burns and scoring from the acid. Luckily they didn't completely eat away the metal. Something must have protected her or got her away before it got too bad. But she needed repairs. Same as him.

A little while later, the hood was up, and Dean was busy at work fixing her up, AC/DC blasting through the large area.

Now that Nehaalista could work a little bit more naturally (her leg still ached, but at least it wasn't hard to walk on), she'd set out to find a forge. And found one she did, recently used, if the embers in the forge were any indication. With a little, strange sort of almost-grunt, she dropped her box of ore on the ground beside and relit the flame, stoking it until heat boiled from the red mouth of the forge.

While on shore leave, Nehaalista had been able to purchase some ore. To not do anything with her hands while stuck aboard Stacy would have driven her crazy, and Nehaalista wasn't about to let that happen to her sanity. After all, what would happen if she did go crazy? Start gyrating wildly while standing on a mailbox?

She wasn't a night elf, for Light's sake. Sorry, Choline.

Nehaalista prospected half the box, pulling away a few dozen uncut gems and setting them aside. They were strange, and Nehaalista couldn't think of names, but had arranged them by color. The rest of the ore was melted down into bars, one of which Nehaalista hefted in one hand.

Now, what to make? She pushed away a limp, sweaty curl and swished her tail against the chair, thoughtfully.

Cas waited at the entrance to the city, for Tay to join him. He had a couple bags of supplies he's pilfered from the things brought back from shore leave, held in each hand. While he stood with a stillness that was normal for him, he was impatient on the inside. He was eager to head to the small house, located in the middle of the city, the house that he had picked out for he and Sam and Dean, and now maybe Tay, to live in.

It had clearly been abandoned for a while, and was going to need a lot of work to make livable. But Cas was ready to do the work, ready to accomplish something. He was ready to not feel like he was a useless weight holding Sam and Dean and everyone back. As soon as he was healed, he was going to train, but until then, he could do this.

Cas hoped Tay got here soon.



[NOTE: Castiel and Tay are going to be tromping through the city on their way to the house, so feel free to have your character meet up with them or randomly wander by, or whatever. Threadjacking is allowed! Also, yes, the house thing has gotten mod approval :|b]

After leaving the medbay, he'd looked for Sam, he'd looked for Sam everywhere; but Sam is nowhere to be found. Perhaps Dean is right, and Sam has been taken by that computer. Castiel can only hope his friend is returned soon.

After Dean gets healthy again, they will begin training, but for now, Cas has something else occupying his attention. He's sat in the media library, surrounded by books on ... gardening and cooking. He's turning pages with one hand, the other arm still in the sling. The bandage has been removed from his head at least, so that the contusion where he was hit in the head is visible, purple and red and clearly still in the process of healing. He's still wearing the t-shirt and jeans Dean got for him on shore-leave, and various cuts and scrapes are visible on his arms and face. Basically, Cas looks like most of the ship, like he got beat up, and is healing.

He's ignoring all that though, in favor of concentrating intently on the books in front of him. What does an ex-angel want to know about cooking and gardening for? Bother him and find out!

The fight on the planet had gone rather poorly for Rhiow - some well-meaning but wholly ignorant tourist had scooped her up to toss her with the rest of the planet's animals, thinking she was someone's pet. It had been the work of moments to work a short-transit out of there, but with the Ohm numbers so thick and with her separated from the crew, she had decided that retreat was the better part of valor and gotten on board the nearest shuttle back to Stacy.

Sometimes, it was better to live to fight another day.

Now she trotted through the perpetually empty streets of the City, with one destination in mind. Since she had been staying with Tycho and Wedge in their quarters, she had made frequent visits to Grand Central in a continuing attempt to repair the damage. She saw signs that others had been here to do the same - sometimes when she came back, whole walls that had been crumbled now stood restored. It always made her whiskers quiver with barely contained emotion, and she had to sit and groom to compose herself.

Now, the only thing that still lay in shambles was the facade on the front of the building - the statues lay on the ground in disarray and the giant, flawless panel of Tiffany glass that should have covered the great clock was shattered all around.

That would be first. She had avoided walking in this area for so long, but now she carefully moved around it, scraping the pieces of glass together with the backs of her paws until it lay arranged in a big circle. Then she sat down and looked at it closely.

"Wouldn't you rather be one piece again?" she asked, the Speech rolling off her tongue with a little bit of power behind it. "Have people look at you and admire you, feel the heartbeat of the ticking clock at your back and watch the coming and going of thousands - wouldn't you rather? Here's some energy to put yourself back together - a little heat, to fuse it -"

The atoms in the circle of glass began to vibrate, and as she watched, it began to fuse back into place, little by little, until the sparkling plate of glass was once again whole. Rhiow put her ears forward, pleased, and lay down with her head on her paws, looking very satisfied with herself.

Now to get someone with thumbs to put it back where it belonged.

Dean never liked hospitals. Bad things always went down in hospitals. Especially death. And he thought he remembered briefly seeing that reaper Tessa, or maybe it was just a delerious dream from his injuries. No matter, once again he skirted death, and is living. Again. Awesome.

Still it took a while to really wake up from his injuries, combination of them and the lack of regular sleep. So it was some time while he healed that he woke up. He wanted to leave the medbay right then and there, but no dice. Even after cursing the EMH a few times. Stupid hologram, stupid medbay.

He was also wondering how his brother was, and he hadn't heard any updates about the Ohm battle yet. So the hunter was grumpy AND worried. So he hoped somebody better have some damn news.

"Come on, somebody give me my damn walking papers already!" What Dean wouldn't give for those sign out forms most hospitals had. This damn place never seemed to have heard of it.

It was a freaking gorgeous day out on Zokez II, and even though it was all islands, there was some open road. Dean did a last check over on the Impala, making sure everything looked good.

He then yelled to the others, "Come on, we're burning daylight here, let's go."

Rhiow had not forgotten her promise to a certain Winchester, made a ways back before the Nightmare King. It had taken her a relatively short amount of time to find a quiet place, sink into the Whispering and gather information about the planet. Earthlike statistics, including a small moon.

It would be a simple matter to slot in the coordinates for this planet and its moon, and Rhiow had spent a small amount of time tweaking the gravitational and rotational constants so they wouldn't end up in the middle of space - or the middle of the moon.

Now, she only had to contact Sam. A quick comm ring message - [[Sam, did you still want to go to the moon? Meet me near the obs deck. Dean can come if he wishes, and your friend as well.]]